A one-armed man and itchy, squeaky bum time at the Oval
"The game's afoot: Follow your spirit, and upon this charge cry ‘Bat for Baz, England and Saint James Anderson!’"
One of my favourite jokes as a kid was: “What is the height of agony? A one-armed bandit hanging off the edge of a cliff with an itchy bum.”
It was funny to me. Then my bum would get itchy and then it wasn’t so funny. Nothing is less funny than an arse that needs scratched and you are around others and can’t find a private place to give it a dig. Prickly, prickly heat, which I found has a medical term: “pruritus ani”. As Billy Connolly said of itchy bum syndrome, when it hits you start the funny walk, trying to rub the two cheeks of your arse together so no one notices. In parked cars, in dark alleyways and in aisle number six where they sell the mops and buckets at the supermarket are the itchy bum scratchers trying to hide and get their thumbs out. And in.
And then, on Monday we had a one-armed man walk out in front of 20,000 people in London with what we must assume was squeaky bum syndrome. Chris Woakes, his left arm in a sling tucked under his jersey to protect the shoulder he had dislocated on the first day of the final Test between England and India at the Oval, was the man his team hoped would squeak them over the line.
Joe Root had said Woakes, who had been off the field since Friday after popping his shoulder on the first day, would bat no matter what and had been having throw-downs in the nets and practising batting left handed.
“Clearly he’s in a huge amount of pain, having done what he’s done, but it just shows, as we’ve seen from other guys within this series, like [Rishabh] Pant batting with a broken foot, guys taking all sorts of blows here and there, but it means a huge amount to him,” said Root. “It just shows the character and the person that he is that he’s willing to put his body on the line like that for England – hopefully he doesn’t have to, but if it does come to that, he could get us across the line and win us an incredible series.”
Given how this series has swung and swerved, postured and pouted, roared and succumbed, it was destined to end thus – a one-armed man, his bat more crutch than weapon, staggering, wincing on to the field of battle.
Did Ben Stokes, the captain of England, channel King Henry’s speech from Shakespeare’s Henry V when he spoke to Woakes? “Once more unto the breach, dear friend, once more…close the wall up with our English dead; In peace there’s nothing so becomes a man as modest stillness and humility: But when the blast of war blows in our ears, then imitate the action of the tiger…
“Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide, hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit to his full height. On, on, you noblest English… The game's afoot: Follow your spirit, and upon this charge cry ‘Bat for Baz, England and Saint James Anderson!’ ”
No. Stokes did not. “Before he went out I didn’t get a chance to give him a tap on the back and say: ‘Go well.’ ” said Stokes. “Coming off it’s obvious what would have been said, just: ‘Great effort, unbelievable.’ He just shrugged his shoulder and said: ‘I wouldn’t do anything else.’ ”
Woakes didn’t, thankfully, face a ball. That would have been cruel. Not even Mohammed Siraj, the fire and fury man, would have dropped one short on him, would he? Woakes was in pain as he walked out. He ran the 22 yards between stumps four times, once for a leg bye and three singles, his teeth clenched as his left shoulder wanted to move along with the rest of him. Muscle memory is a stubborn thing when you are injured. The rest of the body forgets about the memo the brain sent them about employee “left shoulder” being on sick leave.
The 20,000 squeaky bums at the Oval either jumped or slumped when Gus Atkinson was yorked by Siraj after 56 minutes of play on a fifth morning that was nerve-frazzling, spirit-tingling and soul-filling for the future and validation of Test cricket. It was also almost a guilty pleasure watching Woakes walk out to the middle. We did and didn’t want him to come out. Poor guy. He’s done his bit, but then…rubbernecking at the car accident and all that.
Itchy bum syndrome, squeaky bum time? Billy, what’s the solution? “The answer’s dead simple. All you do is stand with your legs slightly apart and then say in a proud and happy voice, my arse is incredibly itchy and I think I will scratch it!”
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